and her comes Cris
untying his tie
disrobing his red polo shirt
without his pants on
except his
stylish G string
looking like a native
from the uncivilized
mountain
the cameraman directs
his gaze
and to project his
bankable image
he was told
never to smile.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
When I was fourteen and first started going out, I always wanted to be the opposite of everyone else. So I would go to the club in a polo T-shirt and pants and sneakers and a hat on backward, just so I would not be dressed like other girls.
Worry
the polo shirt
no longer fits
the pair of pants
needs to
be repaired
everyday the line
of the
weighing scale
moves further
right
quality life
perhaps
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Unholy Hour
my pants are under the chair
my brief on the john
my polo shirt on the cabinet
my watch below the bed
my shoes scatter on the floor
my socks no longer pair
we're here united
at the most unholy hour
of the day
with all regrets
for nudity
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Competition
as i wake up
i prepare for another round of
competition
about the day's strategies
the hour's demands
the dictates of the last seconds
i rub my eyes
wake up
carry my body
dragging it like
a heavy metal
i wash my face
check my attache case
taking in
all the papers
i see myself in the
mirror
dressed for the day
an attire
not fit for any embarrassment
polished shoes
oiled hair
well ironed pants
infallible polo shirt
i step out of the door
get inside my car
and now i am ready
to compete against
the previous self
that i had.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Poem About The Rotten Self
it is
a law that every
human being
accepts
as is: it is always the soft side that is hidden
sort of
Achilles's heel since we do not want to be
destroyed in an instant
it is the hard side that is always shown
a carapace
an armor of the body
a steel polo shirt
a pair of pants made of platinum
a bronze heart
a brain full of lead
tin hands
iron feet
the soft side is left like a fruit that you have forgotten
inside the
cabinet because of your selfishness
that inability to accept that all things are meant to be given
away
one day
you will find all the pulp consumed by the ants
have hope get the remaining seed with dried fiber like hair
on all over its body
take it and sow it
today.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Money is the string with which a sardonic destiny directs the motions of its puppets.
quote by W. Somerset Maugham
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Its Okay
[female talking spanish]
I like that...
You tellin me you wanna come over
But girl Id told ya
I dont know if I could control myself
Id love to just kiss and hold ya
Movies, popcorn, and soda
But imagine us all by ourselves
Wed be kissin, skin to skin, wearin nothin (nothin)
Who knows where we end (help)
But you can stay
If you really want...
Its okay...
[chorus]
Its okay
Its alright
You can spend the night
If you promise that youll hold me
Tight
And I would like
For you to love me
Love me
Baby, its okay
Its alright
You can spend the night
If you promise that youll hold me
Tight
And I would like
For you to love me
Love me
(I) lately Ive been thinkin to myself
If I ever had you alone
What Id do to you
What youd do to me
Everything in between
But wait...
I dont wanna hurry you
Dont get it twisted though, babygirl
Cause I aint scared of you
Therell be kissin (kissin), skin to skin (skin to skin), wearin nothin (nothin)
Who knows where we end (help)
But you can stay
If you really want...
Its okay...
[chorus]
Cause...
Baby I wanna make love (make love)
But I dont wanna rush (rush you)
You mean everything to me though
To make you...happy...is what
What I want to do
I dreamed of this for so long
And if its what you want
Cmon now...
Kissin (kissin), skin to skin, well be wearin nothin
Who knows where we end
But you can stay
If you really want...
Its okay...
[chorus]
First comes off the shirt
Then
Then comes off that pants
Then
Then comes off the bra
Then
First comes off the shirt
Then
Then comes off that pants
Then
Then comes off the bra
Then
First comes off the shirt
Then
Then comes off that pants
Then
Then comes off the bra
Then
First comes off the shirt
Then
Then comes off that pants
Then
Then comes off the bra
Then
[female talking spanish]
song performed by by Next
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Clothes
Put on a clean shirt
before you die, some Russian said.
Nothing with drool, please,
no egg spots, no blood,
no sweat, no sperm.
You want me clean, God,
so I'll try to comply.
The hat I was married in,
will it do?
White, broad, fake flowers in a tiny array.
It's old-fashioned, as stylish as a bedbug,
but is suits to die in something nostalgic.
And I'll take
my painting shirt
washed over and over of course
spotted with every yellow kitchen I've painted.
God, you don't mind if I bring all my kitchens?
They hold the family laughter and the soup.
For a bra
(need we mention it?) ,
the padded black one that my lover demeaned
when I took it off.
He said, 'Where'd it all go? '
And I'll take
the maternity skirt of my ninth month,
a window for the love-belly
that let each baby pop out like and apple,
the water breaking in the restaurant,
making a noisy house I'd like to die in.
For underpants I'll pick white cotton,
the briefs of my childhood,
for it was my mother's dictum
that nice girls wore only white cotton.
If my mother had lived to see it
she would have put a WANTED sign up in the post office
for the black, the red, the blue I've worn.
Still, it would be perfectly fine with me
to die like a nice girl
smelling of Clorox and Duz.
Being sixteen-in-the-pants
I would die full of questions.
poem by Anne Sexton
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We Bury Our Burdens
we carry a sack
full of everything
the trivial and not so trivial
to the others
which we sometimes
deem to be
important
we start cramping things
in a small pack
a pair of shoes, a plaque,
a bat, white polo shirt,
underwear, the certificates,
some poems even
a book about
romance with some
molds on the hard cover
where shall i bury all these things?
for i am moving to
another place
this morning
i wait for the high tide
or which comes first
the dusty early morning
on the road
this cranky motor vehicle
bound for the
dry mountain
where a hole is ready
tagging a shovel
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Time to be with myself, this self, this self, this self
I put my hands in the side pocket of my pants
Tuck my polo, gel my hair, smooth and stiff
Put on my shoes, my wristwatch is tight,
Zip my skin to keep both bones and flesh
Follow the narrow path and walk
Without looking back
It is now this time
For myself
To
Where?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Adolescent hormones…
I have a devil in my pants
With a three pronged lance
Look here? Look there?
Look everywhere?
The whores of Babylon
And the wenches of France
Are serving up a dance
In my pants, in my pants
In my pants,
Yet; my heart wants romance.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Clothes And Underwear
shades and
black shiny shoes
and white socks
and olive green polo shirts
a red jockey underwear
and king's pants
a rolex wristwatch
reading glasses
they are all spread
randomly on
a carpeted floor
all these are useless.
removed from you
and her.
she moans.you are
naked.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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the man sitting alone at the cafeteria of Perpetual Succor Hosptal
he is black, native Filipino
wears a coat, white polo shirt
fat and big tummy
sipping coffee and alone
a book on the right side of his table
he is not reading it
an attache case is on his left leg
he is at the side of the glass window
of the second floor of this hospital run by nuns
below is the garden of palm trees and
grass and perennial violets and vietnam roses
he is not taking any breakfast
perhaps he is waiting for someone
i sit over a corner fronting him
i am observing the details of his existence
i know it is another sad story
but he is not talking about it
i know there is no use
what for is sharing another story
about life's tragedy?
will it be another story of a husband
contemplating about his next move
what to do with a wife stricken with
breast cancer at stage 4?
i look around
there is another man in shorts
riding on a wheel chair
pushed by a woman in her forties
an old woman, a child crying, etc. etc. etc.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fix Your Gaze
When you hit your note
Its like you had no choice
I cant resist distractions web
When you use that voice
On a crowded stage
I play soliloquy
Im at the center of the earth
When you gaze on me
The familiar ring of the native drums
Sometimes I hardly recognize it
Inspiration comes
With the tip of my mind
Holding back the sea
I have no choice but to prevail
When you gaze on me
Ive got the ghost of a new machine
Where I can find reality routine
Every time you fix your gaze on me
When you gaze on me
I feel a ring of fire
When you gaze on me
And I lose all desire
Fix your heart on me
Ill show you what Ive memorized
Fix your gaze on me
I need to see your eyes [uh - good god!]
Out in the cold the assassin waits
Armored by love no sword can penetrate
Every time you fix your heart on me
Im a new machine
Where I can find reality routine
Every time you fix your gaze on me
song performed by by Utopia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Reality...one
in a field of grass
underneath the morning clouds
a man with a black hat
white polo and marine blue pants
rides on a red motorbike
followed by a brown dog
and a black horse
one upon the other they tread
upon the road that you are talking
blue birds fly the skies
above the poplars
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Everyday Is A Special Occasion
with you
everyday is a special occasion
a celebration
so i wear my best polo shirt
and you serve me
the best breakfast in town
we hide nothing precious
you serve all the special things
for us
so when we die
no one laughs at us
for keeping things with
all dusts
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pants
Gonna take off my pants gonna take off my pants gonna take off my pants gonna take off my pants and your mama cant stop me and your papa cant stop me and the police cant stop me no one can st
Gonna do it right now gonna do it right now Im gonna take off my pants gonna take off my pants and your teachers cant stop me and your priests cant stop me and your firemen cant stop me and
President cant stop me will you take off my pants? will you take off my pants?
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Some Lives Are Destined To Be Wasted
it has become my habit lately
to sleep late at night
and wake up late
breakfast is forgotten
and lunch sometimes is set aside
lack of appetite
the absence of life
the blankets unfolded
the windows unopened
the darkness kept like a cold that does not leave me
like a flu
this fever that makes living inconvenient
yet providing all the reasons
for not being part of everything in the family
that i hate to relate with
i have broken drinking glasses
on clumsy hands
sleepy moods
ups and downs of my life
downs mostly
this desperation that keeps on staying
in my room
i turn off everything
i want mostly those associated with endings
a glass of milk
that my puppy drinks
hotdogs cold and greasy
i cannot eat them today
my polo shirt is ready
my pants well ironed
some calls from the office
on an emergency conference
i am sick i have aches all over my body
they say i need a doctor
or i need love i must have a lover
and change them as often as i change
the cover on the chair
you guess it right
some lives are destined to be wasted
i am having mine
and i am ready with this garbage can
in a minute
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Following No Rules
...is like going towards a house
on a mountaintop
the trees there have
ripe fruits for the picking
lots of jack
fruits spreading a map
of smell
and you focus your gaze
and you do not know
which way
you follow a scent
a view
and you bow down
to a thick grass
finding your way in there
you are not lost
you are tired
the house is still there
the fruits are about to fall
no one has gone there yet
in your wild
imagination
a native tells you frankly
sir, it is only the top of the mountain
nothing more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Snailing Menace
Through the hooks & cranies
Amid the raving & ranting of our social set-up, comes uncivilized traits and cultures.
Uncivilized traits our
Ancestry never had a nightmare of.
Fallen standards,
Indecision, corruption, bribery, lack of dignity, just to know but a few render the bleak spectrum.
Immorality, a deserted Perspective.
How sudden, how soon & how did it emanate?
Seem rhetoric!
Immorality, an awkward guard against
Prosperity & excellence.
To many, the trust can never be restored, the hope cant be retrieved but with optimism,
Fictions can be transformed into indelible facts.
Rise Up! ! ! !
poem by Prince Kenny Osei
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